I nearly fainted in my client’s warehouse toilet this morning after discovering that my ‘auntie’ had come all the way to Tuas to visit me.
No, not from the shock of finding an angry red patch staring back at me.
My head was spinning and my hands turned cold and started to shake. I had to sit on the toilet with my head on my knees to keep it from lolling about. Sucks. Really sucks.
Back to the toilet story.
It’s my last day at Fin-Ass Co. and god help me, I wouldn’t want to return another day to the stinky room that the client specially prepares for auditors to die in. Nor do I want to eat another mouthful of their artery-clogging lunchbox. Frankly, I think they’re trying to kill me.
With the giant resolve to leave this place alive, I searched my baba-bag for the plastic packet of samples. Luckily, I was too lazy back then to remove the sample sanitary pad that I had gotten at the bangla-city bus interchange from my bag. Otherwise I’d have to stuff my pants with a tissue roll.
Back then, when I received the sample from the promoter, I noticed one of her colleagues was blur enough to push a packet into a young man’s hand. The guy looked pretty happy when he took the sanitary pad sample. He wasn’t so happy after one of his female friends pointed at him and laughed. He didn’t have a clue why everyone was laughing until she told him there’s no way in hell he’ll ever get to use it. Then it dawned on him. Soft cottony absorbent… of course, it’s either a packet of tissues or something he’d never dream of wiping his sweat with.
Oh boy. (00,)